


Crazy About A Sharp-Dressed Man

by GlitterDwarf



Category: Supernatural
Genre: And Dean's jealous face, And Sam's conspiratorial face, And gets a sugar mama, And way too much empathy floating around, Cas is dressed like a model, F/F, Gen, Los Angeles, M/M, Multi, Recreational Drug Use, clothes!kink, suspenders
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-14
Updated: 2013-08-17
Packaged: 2017-12-08 12:24:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/761275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GlitterDwarf/pseuds/GlitterDwarf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean now knows that he was never going to be prepared for what daily life with a fallen angel would mean, but he really thinks that there still should have been a warning label somewhere: "Warning! Fallen angels will suddenly become very interested in fashion and will become so blindingly hot that all of humanity is ruined forever for Dean Winchesters." And that's where everything shifts and changes in, of all places, Los Angeles, where anything can happen--and, usually, does, just in a weird and needlessly-expensive way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prelude: Every Time A Store Bell Rings, an Ex-Angel Gets His Suspenders

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lemonsorbae](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lemonsorbae/gifts).



> This came from some genius tags on [this](http://castielsangelpeen.tumblr.com/post/46911443195/anonymous-sketch-request-castiel-in-suspenders) post on Tumblr, and accidentally became a huge labor of love. This is kind of ended up being my epic love song for Supernatural, for Destiel, for fandom, and for my home. So... sorry.

“Dean, I believe that my clothes are beginning to smell.”

To his right, Sam snorted and pitched forward in his seat while Dean himself shook his head lightly, back and forth.

“Well, have you been using the deodorant that I gave you?”

There was a slight shifting in the seat behind him. Dean looked into the rearview mirror to catch a glimpse of his ex-angel in the backseat. Cas was looking uncomfortable and picking at an errant string on his damn, backward tie—since when did his clothes fray?—and sighing quietly. Now that Dean looked more closely, he could see several stains dotting the dark fabric of his suit as well as noticeable half-circle stains circling his armpits.

“You did not explain,” Cas finally whispers petulantly at his tie.

A cacophony erupted.

“Dean! You have to teach him these things-“

“Well excuse me, Sammy, for thinking that an _angel_ would not have difficulty with the ways of humanity-“

“I am back here-“

“He is unfathomably ancient! Don’t you think he may have been too busy knowing _the secrets of the universe_ to care about the personal health maintenance of humans?”

“You do in fact have an unrealistic sense of importance of your-“

“Are you saying we haven’t done shit, Cas?”

“The importance of your banalities, I wasn’t implying that your soul-“

“Can you just give him a break, Dean, and just spend a few minutes teaching-“

“Okay, everybody _shut the fuck up_!”

All of the overlapping voices stopped suddenly, and while it left tense silence in its wake it also allowed Dean a few quiet moments to get his breathing together like Bobby used to tell him to do. He counted the ins and outs of five of his breaths before the whole thing slowed down enough for his head to stop pounding.

“Next town is fifteen miles. We’ll find you a drug store and a thrift store, capisce?”

Cas murmured a quiet thanks, and Dean ignored how much it sounded like a prayer. He just counted more breaths in his head and added Sam’s concerned staring to his list of things to ignore forever or until he died for real, whichever came first.

\--

He stopped Baby at a gas station first, mumbling something about how regular car maintenance and care was the most important part of their Scooby gang (a reference Cas, of course, “didn’t get”). Sam jumped out of the car almost before Dean himself. He knocked on the window of Cas’ door and motioned for him to get out.

“I’ll pay for it inside. And see if there’s deodorant and things inside.”

Dean nodded and looked pointedly away. Sam’s face was too open and goddamn _knowing_ right now, which was way too fucking annoying to deal with at the moment. Dean couldn’t even figure out for himself why his heart kept roaring in his own ears every time the topic of Castiel’s fall came up. It wasn’t the exciting off-beat cadence of a sexual encounter, as Sam suggested like an asshole, and it wasn’t even the sharp pangs than came when Sammy, Bobby or Cas were hurt.

These were heartbeats that made him think of the stench of his own blood spraying around him, of his flesh being eaten, hacked, and torn from his body, of the decades of unending suffocation.

This felt like dying, every single day. And, if anybody knew what dying felt like, it was Dean Winchester.

He jumped when a hand clapped against his shoulder and immediately reached for the knife hidden on his body. It was just Sam, though, back with his stupid, annoying face. Cas was behind him, holding a bag of what looked to be toiletries in one hand and a magazine in the other. Dean raised his eyebrows at the magazine and then looked back at Sam.

“It’s a men’s fashion magazine.”

“They make those?”

Sam just blinked at him, sighed and gently pushed Dean to the side so he could begin pumping gas into Baby. “I’ll take care of this. And drive. You just…sit down.”

Dean shrugs and tries to act nonchalant, despite the fact that even this much of a promised reprieve is easing the pain from his temples.

“They sell more than porn in gas stations,” Sam called out as Dean entered the car from the passenger-side door.

“I know that!” Dean shut his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. It was too early in the morning for this shit.

"Would you like to look at this publication with me, Dean?"

Dean cursed and whirled around in his seat, accidentally knocking his hand against the steering wheel as he turned.  Cas winced and cocked his head to the side.

“Are you alright, Dean?”

“Yes, Cas, I’m…” He trailed off, then scrubbed his hands down his face. “I just wasn’t expecting you to be behind me like that. I didn’t hear ya’.” He cracked a smile and reached out to clap a hand on Cas’ shoulder. “You know, for a dude that lost his mojo, you really are still the same, even, you know. Silent movin’. And, well.”

He was babbling. He was goddamn babbling, his heart was beating audibly, and his hand was still holding on to Castiel’s shoulder, tight. He stared at his own hand, and saw the smudge of dirt just to the left of his hand. In fact, there were creeping splotches of discoloration along the shoulder, then even to Castiel’s skin. There was a small bruise on his cheekbone and what looked to be like a spot of dried blood behind his ear. His cataloguing stopped short when he noticed Cas’ eyes on his own. They were discomfortingly soft, with even a touch of pity.

“Uh,” Dean mumbled about as coherently as he could manage. He moved his hand quickly by rubbing it down Cas’ shoulders twice as if to wipe the dirt away. “Yeah, you weren’t kidding about your clothes. Hey, pass me that pretty clothes book?”

Cas, ever the diligent soldier, silently passed the magazine to Dean. He took the magazine and started flipping through the book. Cas’ eyes never strayed from his face, but Dean’s eyes never strayed from the pictures in the magazine. He flipped through it unseeingly, too focused on trying to _calm the fuck down_. He hadn’t been feeling or acting the same since Cas’ fall, and it was getting to be really confusing, and really fucking _weird_.

He flipped to a random page and passed it back into his friend’s hands, pointedly not lingering.

“That looks real good, Cas,” he said with a smile.

Sam, for once in his life, chose the right moment to interrupt. He slide into the car, turned on the ignition and started driving. Dean took his phone out and pretended to be doing anything except for counting breaths.

“You find anything you like?” Sam asked, voice louder so that Cas could hear in the back seat.

“Yes, I’ve found several things on this page that I believe will work. Dean helped as well.”

Dean couldn’t figure out why a guy can’t count breaths in peace over here without his brother and his ex-angel staring at him. For fuck’s sake.

\--

The truth was that Dean really did like thrift stores. They had a lot of really good band shirts, if you looked in the right places, and their flannel sections never disappointed. But more than that, he liked to admire the clothing that was actual vintage and not just some clothes that were trendy in the nineties and now useful as party props or as one of many layers of clothing on a hipster. Being one of the only humans in the entirety of history to have time-travelled, he could fairly say that he had an appreciation for the history of things, even if it was as frivolous a thing as clothes. He could probably just blame his dad for this, but Dean still didn’t see the fuss about clothes as a way to show an identity. Especially for life as a hunter, clothes were a way to cover your body and sometimes provide protection, not showcase who you are. Nobody could really know that, anyway.

He’s thinking about this and wondering why he didn’t just offer to share his clothes with Cas (they would be too big for him, but he thinks the scrawny, nerdy guy could make it work) when he hears a murmur from a group of girls to his right.

“Does he live here?”

“Fuck, Jessi! He’s clearly too old for you!”

“Well I wasn’t going to _say_ anything to him! I just want to look…”

Dean slowly craned his neck to look around the store and see who they were talking about. Probably some douchey-looking bastard and, with his morning, he deserved to laugh at somebody behind their back.

This dude’s back was nothing to laugh at.

In the straightest, most heterosexual way possible, Dean Winchester wanted to rut against the man over by the dressing room. His thin but toned body was hugged by a suit that looked tailored to fit his body, though it was likely something he had just found on the racks in this store. He cocked his head and let out a quiet swear as the man shifted back and forth in front of the mirror, watching the fabric of the pants stretch across the man’s ass. Then, the man shrugged the suit jacket off of his shoulders, and Dean wasn’t even embarrassed that he gasped right along with the girls at what was revealed. Besides the movement of his strong back that was visible beneath the shirt, the man was also wearing— _Jesus fucking Christ—_ suspenders, an item that Dean had, until this moment, severely underestimated the kinky value of. He was daydreaming about slipping suspenders off of strong shoulders when he heard Sam’s voice.

He looked to his left, where Sam was holding a trilby in the air and waving it (a wholly gratuitous act, as he already lumbered over every thing in the store as he made his own atmosphere only breathed by gigantically tall persons) toward— _fuck_.

He was waving the hat toward the area with the fitting rooms.

Dean didn’t even need to look to confirm his suspicion; he just waited until Cas met up with his brother. At Sam’s feet were three hand-baskets filled with what looked like gorgeous, vintage pieces. He could spot from here a few nice jackets, four or five pairs of nice jeans, fitted cardigans, and a few basic items. A whole basket was dedicated to accessories, including a pair of aviator sunglasses, a gorgeous watch, a few pairs of shoes and—yes—suspenders. Dean’s breath caught in his throat as the familiar pair of shoes finally caught up to these baskets.

His eyes slowly crawled up what he could now see was the long, lean, strong body of the man who used to be an angel, _his_ angel, who saved Dean’s life and sacrificed his own multiple times, who willingly carved the grace out of his own body just so the Winchesters could live another day on Earth. And this body was now shed of the familiar trenchcoat and sloppy suit, and was instead wearing an outfit that looked really amazing for something that was bought in a thrift store in Nowheresville, Colorado. In fact, the outfit looked so good it might have stepped out of a, well.

A fashion magazine.

Dean swallowed, counted a few breaths, and looked Cas in the eyes. Even from halfway across the store, he could see the bright blue of them, shining with an altogether too-human smile. He turned to face Dean and moved his hands out to the side, a mirror of the same movement he had done after returning from Purgatory and cleaning up.

“Is he looking over here?!” the girls whispered frantically to each other. Before he was conscious of his own actions, Dean puffed his chest and threw a thumbs-up to his brother and his ex-angel.

“Lookin’ good, Cas!” he shouted, altogether too-loud in the store. Dean savored both the disappointed and scandalous sounds of the girls behind him and the brilliant, pure face of Castiel, because he knew that the moment he slid his faked credit card across the counter and paid for these clothes that he would be well and fucked, forever and ever.

Amen.


	2. Oh, Lola!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I AM SO HAPPY TO HAVE FINISHED THIS CHAPTER. You have no idea the amount of angst I put into writing this. Thank you for experiencing this with me.

 

“Instagram, 01-23-2014 13:05 PST  
theusernamethatiwantiscastiel  
‘I have many new clothes today’”

Castiel ran his hands along his torso. The cashmere was soft under his fingers, and for a few moments he could close his eyes and remember the feeling of softness, warmth, and comfort from the fluttering of his wings against the wings of his brethren. He could see the joyful glow of their grace as it pulsed warm into his own. He pressed his fingers more firmly into his ribs until he could feel the heartbeat in his fingertips. The soft pulse was close enough.

That was _long_ enough.

Castiel opened his eyes, then cocked his head and squinted at his reflection in scrutiny.

"Is there something wrong?"

He turned to face the nice, smiling salesgirl. She was a new hire, very tiny and practically vibrating with caffeinated energy. Her height was exaggerated with the aid of a pair of gorgeous JC Litas, her makeup was styled similar to what Givenchy just showed, and he could faintly pick up the scent of Oh, Lola! by Marc Jacobs. She was the kind of fabulous that left him with both a deep respect and a longing to be able to press his fingers to her temple and give her rest.

Castiel focused hard and smiled at her the way he had been practicing.  

"Do you have this fitted cotton shirt in an ochre? I would also like to see the greens, maybe. And may I see your selection of dress suspenders?"

She gave Castiel a cheery affirmation and then sped off to do the searching he usualy did for himself. He waited until he knew that he was completely alone and then pulled out the well-worn paper from his wallet. He carefully studied the cut of the suit the model wore and frowned.

Nothing he had found was close enough yet, though they were getting very close.

"Here they are!" She teetered over to him laden with several shirt options of close shades and their complementary suspenders. The overall effect made her look like a baby giraffe, which was one of the most endearing things he had seen so far in this city.

"Beautiful," he murmured, looking through the shade options. Castiel ultimately left for the register with the sales girl carrying for him two fitted shirts, a beautiful, dark-grey pair of suspenders, and the heavenly cashmere sweater. As she rung up his purchase he rubbed his fingers over the distressed, soft leather of his new billfold.

"That will be $465.76."

Castiel slipped a card out of his wallet and passed it over to the sales girl. Her smile faltered as she saw the name on the card.

"Sir, I'm sorry, but it looks like you made a mistake. This card belongs to a Lucita."

Just as he opened his mouth to explain the door opened with a soft chime.  

"Castiel! Am I late?"

He smiled and motioned for Luz to come over. The sales girl, now blushing and nervously shifting back and forth behind the counter, ran the card and pushed it back across the counter. Castiel's companion signed for it and grabbed his hand, leading him out of the store.

"Come on, baby love-bird! We have so many more stores to hit up, and we need to leave that baby giraffe to learn how to walk." He huffed out a laugh as she purposefully wobbled, then grabbed her hand, pulled her close and kissed her.

 

* * *

 

_Even before his body’s shock ebbed away and left in its wake searing pain, even before he witnessed the countless, streaking lights of his brothers crashing to Earth, and even before he realized that the rawness in his throat and ringing in his ears was the sound of his own screaming, Castiel immediately felt the sharp difference between angel and human. His body--not his vessel anymore, but his permanent body--was fully functioning, in that he could speak, move, walk, and anything else he could have tried to do. But the overwhelming loss of everything kept him still. While he was experiencing far less--less dimensions, less cognition--what was left felt raw and angry to his skin. The balmy air felt like needles surrounding his body._

_By either a stroke of luck or a final show of Metatron’s sick psyche he landed very near to the Winchesters. Sam told him later that they were able to hear his screams from the car. According to the story, Dean took just enough time to make sure that make sure that Sam was comfortable and that none of his wounds were fatal before tearing away into the woods to follow the sounds of Castiel’s voice._

_Castiel remembered crawling on the ground, looking for any shattered grace, hoping that one of his brothers would be near. He remembered scratching at the ground and through the dirt, running his hands against the trees. He remembered pressing hard into the bark, first his hands and then his entire body. And he remembered that just as he could feel the blood--his blood now--begin to seep out of the cuts in his hands and forehead that he was peeled away from the tree and engulfed in a full-body embrace. His eyes were squeezed shut and body sunk, and he could no longer hold himself up._

_“I’m here, Cas,” Dean had whispered repeatedly, a mantra in Castiel’s ear. Castiel had shuddered and shook his head. He was no longer screaming, now only whimpering and shaking in Dean’s arms._

_It was worse when he finally opened his eyes. For the first time, he saw Dean as a human and nothing more, and this hurt almost as much as the loss of his grace. The immediate shock is what finally silenced his throat. His eyes roamed over Dean’s face, hoping that, at any moment, he would be able to see, feel, and experience Dean’s soul once again. He missed its warmth and its glow, its tangibility. He missed being able to touch and soothe it when Dean wasn’t aware. He wanted to touch and soothe it now, to press away the pain in his face. And Castiel hurt, deep, knowing that he would never again be able to erase the wounds from Dean’s face, body and soul, and he ached knowing that he more than almost anybody else had hurt him the most._

_He reached out to where the glow of Dean’s soul used to be and immediately noticed the redness smeared along his hands and down his own wrists. Castiel stared at it, and the starkness and placement made him think horribly of the crucified Christ._

_Not even Hell had felt like this. Hell was eternal torture of constant pain and torture for a being with grace. This, this suddenly being without, this state where all he could focus on was what was gone? This was his true torture._

_“Dean, I’ve fallen,” he whispered. Dean pressed his forehead into Castiel’s and whispered soothing sounds back to him. With that the pain finally overtook him and Castiel blacked out._

_He would later explain to Sam the feeling of being fallen via mathematics. He began by drawing several diagrams. Sam came to understand not only the emotions but the physicality of losing your grace by way of equations that spoke about loss of dimensions, mass and restricted cognitive abilities._

_(Dean had frowned at these papers and dismissed them with several derisive nicknames for intellectuals. Castiel later found the papers strewn across the floor under the large research table. Even later, though, he found the papers carefully smoothed out and laid flat in the bedside drawer in Dean’s bedroom.)_

_It was over three months before Castiel found a suitable illustration for Dean, until a quiet morning when they were watching old Looney Tunes episodes._

_“It feels like you would feel if you were to suddenly only exist as a two-dimensional cartoon character, perhaps as the coyote.”_

_Dean nodded silently and stared hard at the screen. Castiel knew that his comment so long ago about the Coyote and the roadrunner, about humanity and chasing after God, was replaying in Dean’s mind as it was replaying in Castiel’s own._

_“You feel trapped.”_

_(They didn’t watch Looney Tunes for quite some time, because Dean wouldn’t let them. Sam explained to Castiel that Dean took things too personally because he was dumb and had too many emotions, and that’s why he immediately stormed out of the room and slammed his door until the walls rattled and echoed.)_

_(Castiel’s first lesson about being a human was that you always had to explain.)_

 

* * *

 

Luz took him to three more clothing stores filled with many more “baby giraffes” before they stopped to eat. The second-hand clothes that Castiel had purchased after his Fall, though well-fitting and fashionable, couldn’t match the tangible luxury of even the most simple piece of clothing in any of these stores on Rodeo Drive. Even the boxer briefs that Lucita handed to their salesperson (with a wink and a smack to his ass) were luxurious. At first he questioned if they weren’t just a superfluous luxury, but then Luz took a pair, lifted up his shirt and ran the fabric down his abs, slow and teasing, and he could immediately see its allure. The silk reminded Castiel of milk, pouring rich and soft against his skin. Lucita laughed when he said this to her. Her laugh was a loud bark followed by extended giggling, making their small table vibrate. Not for the first time, he noticed other people peering in her direction (though he couldn’t be sure what they were looking at, as everybody wore large sunglasses).

“Milk, huh? Not any other white liquid? With the underwear? And Dean?”

Castiel felt the heat rising up his neck, and he wished suddenly that he had worn the scarf she just bought him. Luz had pushed him into the men’s bathroom at The Grove--the outdoor mall she took him to after their shopping--the minute they stepped outside of the parking garage and proceeded to completely redress him out in the open. She had picked out from Castiel’s new clothes [a soft, monochromatic look](http://www.wwd.com/images/processed/taw/2013/06/29/taw-28-06-2014/portrait/00-main/taw-28-06-2014-038.JPG) of: dark, fitted trousers; a soft tee in subtle, light grey stripes; pointed men’s shoes in a dove grey; and a fitted blazer.

In the bathroom she had leaned up to be able to reach his hair (which he had to admit was a nice feeling; being around the Winchesters had begun to let him forget that Jimmy left him a tall body) and run her fingers through it. As she tousled it Castiel held her at the hip, both to keep her steady and also because he had started to love the feel of her body. It was soft, though solid, and reminded him a bit of the look of Meg’s final vessel. Understandably, he didn’t let her leave his arms for a few moments after that realization. She had rewarded his kisses by running her hands down his back, which she had shown him to be a very pleasing area to give attention to.

But then there was the food, her laughter, the silk undergarments, and Dean, looming as always over his consciousness.

He bowed his head and look a moment to check his phone notifications. Sam had commented on the photo he posted to Instagram earlier, saying “Looking good, Cas! Are you sleeping with us tonight?” Garth had also played his next move in Words With Friends.

Lucita reached across the table to cover his left hand with one of her own. She squeezed it gently and smiled at him.

“I’m sorry, Castiel, I just had to tease you about it. I’m sorry. I know he’s a sacred topic.”

“That is borderline-sacrilegious, but I understand your intended meaning,”  Castiel responded. Her smile widened, which seemed to happen whenever he said something that she thought was funny. “I still doubt that Dean will ever see my underwear in the sexual manner that you were implying.”

Luz shrugged, her smile still stretching wide across her face. “I don’t know, man, if somebody went through the elaborate lengths that you’re doing right now to make his birthday awesome? If somebody did that for me? I’m pretty sure that my pants would just melt right off.”

“Well, comparatively, this might count as the smallest of sacrifices that I’ve made for him.” Castiel signed and pushed his sunglasses down to cover his eyes. “I have given up my life for him many times before. This is very little work. And, to be honest, this would all have been impossible if it weren’t for the money that you have put into it, which I will have to work very hard to pay you back for.”

“No, Castiel, it’s not like that. I don’t expect you to pay me back, except maybe with...well, I wouldn’t mind helping you break in those silk boxers. But I’d like to think that over the past few days I’ve been more than a Sugar Momma to you, that I’m your friend now.”

Castiel looked at her through his tinted lenses, his head slightly tilted.

“You haven’t fed me many sweets, and you have done nothing to imitate a parental genealogy with me.”

Luz’ answering laugh resulted in the accidental dropping of one glass and the banging of her chair into the wall. When the annoyed-looking server came to clean up the mess, she handed him a credit card and a paper bill from her wallet.

“When we get back to my place you need to tell me the story about why the fuck you are so literal, because it is genius.”

Another head tilt.

“Lucita, I could do that, but I had planned on copulating with you.”

She choked on the sip of water she was taking from his unbroken glass. When he reached to her to try and help, she just waved her hands at him dismissively.

“Yes, sex, let’s go.”

 

* * *

 

_What Dean said about losing grace being similar to being trapped wasn’t that far off, though Castiel didn’t know it himself until he could start to feel the tightness in his chest loosen up. The first time that the Winchesters went to a bar after a case, Castiel joined them. After drinking what he now knew to be far too much, there was a moment when he thought that he could feel his wings again, when he felt like he would transcend. He squeezed his eyes shut and thought of the sky, thought of the colors, the dimensions, and the warmth of heaven._

_He eventually ended up on the roof of the Impala, eyes squeezed shut and tears falling freely down his cheeks. Castiel clenched his body and lifted onto his toes, trying to hear the voices of his brethren, squeezing every muscle to engage them, to get them to transport away, maybe even back to heaven. When this didn’t work, he lifted a foot and planned to take a step, thinking that maybe being in the air would help._

_Of course, it all went horribly wrong. Dean shouted his name when Castiel had one foot in the air, surprising Castiel with just enough time to completely mess up his fall. He ended up mildly spraining his ankle and having to spend a week simply on research duty. Watching the Winchester brothers fight evil from behind the windows of the Impala did nothing to ease the feeling of being trapped._

_He ended up experiencing an orgasm for the first time the next time that he was drunk. This time it was in the Men of Letters bunker, in his own room, after stealing a found bottle of bourbon. He had been contemplating the passage of time, re-watching thousands of years of the evolution of_ Hominidae _in his mind, thinking about their loss of fur, the emergence of humanity. The emergence of copulation for more than procreation. The emergence of love, the pleasure not only of the knowledge of the Father but also the pleasure of erotic love. The emergence, very recently, of Dean Winchester. The way that the past years had suddenly moved so slowly in his mind. How the eons that he spent fighting on behalf of his Father already seemed to be dwarfed by the years fighting by the side of the Winchesters._

 _He thought of swirling waters teeming with the amino acids that would give rise to life, the cooling Earth, the waters becoming green. The green of Dean’s eyes. The dust of the earth forming vast deserts, forming the sands of the beaches, shifting with the water. The dust forming man. The dust forming Dean. The rumbling of the wind through the Earth’s canyons, the rumbling of Dean’s voice in Castiel’s own ribcage. Dean’s soul, pulsing warmth, his righteousness on display, the feeling of his body in Castiel’s arms as he carried him, rebuilt him, knew him. The look of annoyance in his eyes, the flash of danger in them when demons are around, his tired but strong body in Purgatory. The thousands of smiles, laughs, and poor taste in puns that Castiel had catalogued, every single one, every single smirk and laugh and_ Dean Dean Dean Dean _\--_

_And there it was: the orgasm. It crashed into Castiel violently, making his fingers and toes curl, making his whole body fold in half. His breath moved violently in and out, through gasps and gulps. The dancing colors behind his eyes pulsed with every convulsion of his genitals._

_When the silence became too suffocating and reminded him too strongly of the night that he fell, he washed his body and dressed in the clothes Sam said were the best. He found a woman that night and recreated this revelation inside her._

_(Gabriel would have something to say about that, he was sure. Gabriel would have slapped him on the back, crowed surprise into the air. But he would also have called Castiel out on this, because it was very clear that, if Castiel couldn’t be with Dean, he was trying to live as him and do as he would do, as though this was the next best thing.)_

_(But Gabriel would have also been fallen at this point, and so, in many ways, Castiel is happy that he isn’t around to experience any of this.)_

 

* * *

 

Castiel had Luz pressed against the wall by her kitchen when his phone began to ring in his pocket. She had grinned against his mouth and pressed closer to him.

“Are you being paged or did you have a shiny, buzzing surprise for me?”

Cas growled against her lips and reluctantly let go of her body. He pulled his iPhone from his pocket to see Sam’s name flashing up at him.

“Is it Dean?”

Castiel shook his head. “No, his brother.”

“You should answer it.”

He sighed, because Lucita was correct. He quickly apologized and walked to her balcony, sliding his thumb across the screen to answer the call.

“Sam?”

“Castiel? Where are you?”

He looked out from the balcony. Castiel was up in the Hollywood Hills, in a gorgeous, spacious house overlooking some of the best scenery Los Angeles had to offer. He was in the home of a young, distinguished author, one of the most famous of her generation. He was standing in the chilly, California winter-air, which was helping to ease his erection. He was halfway between running completely away from the Winchesters and chaining his self to their feet, because what was left besides them, and what were his years left besides a blip of time in the entirety of his existence?

“I’m on a date,” he answered, finally, succinctly. Sam laughed, and he sounded surprised.

“Oh, still? She much be really great.” He paused. “Hopefully not too great, though, because we want to go home in the next few days. We wrapped up the case today, and you know how Dean is. He wants to ignore his birthday, so being on the road is probably best.”

“Would you mind terribly keeping Lucita company tomorrow? I agree that she is somebody who you would think of as great, and I believe that you would enjoy discussing modern-day literature with her. I would also like to treat Dean to a birthday surprise tomorrow.”

“Wait, what? Cas, I thought she was your date.”

Cas shifted and pressed a heel against his now mostly-flaccid erection. The wind was beginning to make it uncomfortable.

“Sam, in the interest of honesty you should know that, while I have enjoyed my time with her, I cannot commit to her or anybody else.” On the other end, Sam huffed out a laugh.

“Well, I figured, because...well, I just figured. I’ll keep her company tomorrow. I’m happy you planned something for Dean.”

Another pause, but this time a more pleasant one. The pressure in Cas’ chest was beginning to ease a bit more, and this time it was not due to intoxication but due to friendship, understanding, and a touch of hope. He looked into the Los Angeles skyline and imagined for a moment that he could feel the wind not just on his face and hands, but on his wings again.

“Cas?”

“Yes, Sam?”

“I’m waiting on you in Words With Friends.”

They both laughed at this. Cas returned to the house after the phone call with a smile and a lightness in his body. He walked to Lucita’s room and paused in the doorway. She was there in the middle of her bed, naked, a half-smoked joint between two fingers. He liked seeing her like this, liked being able to trace the softness of her body with his eyes. She was much sturdier than the lithe, stretched-out look of the parading baby giraffes of Los Angeles. Her body was darker, fuller, rounder. He enjoyed the authenticity of her and imagined that, if he could see her soul, it would be a warm and happy pulse.

Castiel stripped off all of his clothes, leaving only his new, silk underwear. He slid onto her bed and settled between her legs, kissing up her soft and dimpled thighs. He took a hit from the passed joint and released it with his head tilted backward.

Luz brushed her fingers of her free hand up his arm and began to massage his shoulder.

“I don’t know if what I’m about to say makes sense, but Cassie, I would like to wish you luck for tomorrow. With my body.”

He reached for the waistband of her panties and began to drag them down.

“That works for me.”

 

* * *

 

_“You can’t do this, Cas! Especially not now, not this year!”_

_Dean’s voice was loud, too-loud, and the frustration made Castiel’s whole body shake. He spun around to face Dean._

_“Dean Winchester you have never been able to decide for me or control me, and you cannot now, either, just because I am human.”_

_“Goddammit, Cas, you don’t know the things that I know!”_

_A fresh pulse of rage rippled through his body. If he still retained grace Dean’s body might have likely combusted from the sheer force of his emotions._

_“You cannot even begin to contemplate what it is that_ you _do not know. I am much older, much more experienced, and I am capable of much more than you give me credit for.”_

_A growl from Dean, and then his fist slammed into the brick wall. They both stilled, though Dean hissed. Castiel was sure that this injury was painful and that his knuckles would be bruised and scraped. Not for the first time, he ached for the power to once again press his grace into Dean and heal him. Castiel reached out for Dean on impulse, but the other man tore his hand away from the wall._

_“Whatever you say, Cas.”_

_He was gone._

_Castiel pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. The lights behind them swirled to life again, and he focused on his breathing and on thinking of Earth’s most calming spots and most calming time periods. Before apes lost their fur and started destroying the calm of angels, certainly._

_“Are you okay?”_

_He opened his eyes. A young woman was standing before him. He couldn’t see her well in the dim light outside of the night club where he and the Winchesters had been canvassing for witnesses. The lights were illuminating her from behind and his own eyesight was fuzzy, with leftover swirls of color clouding his vision. She was currently shrouded in a halo, and, for the first time, it was almost like being in fellowship with his brethren again. She seemed to pulse less of a soul and more of grace._

_Though he was constantly being warned by Dean to beware of strangers, Castiel felt certain that she could mean him no harm. He held his hand out._

_“I’m Castiel.”_

_She grinned, took his hand and shook it firmly._

_“Lucita.”_

 

* * *

 

There were many things that Castiel loved about being between the thighs of a woman. He loved the opportunity to give complete devotion through his mouth and his hands. It was this kind of worship and the warmth it provided to his body--not just sexual heat, but in his emotions--that brought him closest to his Father again. Her heat, her wetness and her slow movements were the sky and he was soaring in it, matching her sound for sound. Her legs shook against his back and shoulders and he pulled her in even closer. Castiel imagined the movement of heavenly wings as he lapped, licked and fluttered against her.

Her legs became shaky and one foot kicked against his back involuntarily.

“I’m sorry!” she gasped and tried to move again. Castiel grunted and squeezed the hand that was holding her from underneath. She gasped at this and then again when he pulled back to lay his cheek against her inner thigh. His fingers inside her sped up their pumping motion until she was arching and pushing back.

He nuzzled into her thigh and smiled up at her.

“You’re moving like the baby giraffes.”

Castiel took immense joy in her orgasm, because it came with a shudder and with laughter, and because it left her in that beautiful state of a singularity of mind.

And there, right there, that was heaven.


	3. Gas Masks Are So Last Season

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sam fangirls, Cas flails, and Luz is fabulous

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was originally going to be the monstrously-long sidestory of Sam and Luz, buttttt I'm impatient for Destiel resolution. Cheers.
> 
> Luz' face belongs to the crazy-amazing Denise Bidot.

“Instagram, 01-24-2014 8:05 PST  
user: lucitamorales  
‘today's the day’”

 

* * *

 

_Cas: Good morning Sam, I am close to the motel. Is he still there?_

_Sam: Yeah he just got out of the shower. Wait 2 mins and I'll get him to leave & then you two can come in_

After sending out the last text Sam checked to make sure that his phone's volume is set to high. Then, after shooting another look at the bathroom, he double-locked the device. While Sam knew that he was being borderline-paranoid, he also had ample evidence to support his caution. He heard Dean singing quietly to himself as he ran through his morning routine in the shower. This morning's tune was the birthday song that The Beatles did on The White Album, complete with guitar riffs and simulated snare and cymbals. Sam snorted at this as he quietly shifted their Dad's journal between the folds of two of his own large flannels.

"I thought that you didn't like paying attention to your birthday?" He said this loudly to cover up the sound of the snaps of the shirt buttons. It was now double-bound, soundless, and camouflaged in the most secure of places, free of Dean's fingers: underneath several pairs of underwear and old socks.

"Bitch!"

"Jerk!"

Dean chuckled and changed tunes. Now he was whistling to "Happiness Is A Warm Gun," which was so painfully typical.

Sam checked his phone quickly. No new messages from Castiel, and nary an update on any of his iPhone games. Perfect. He counted another thirty seconds, took a deep breath, and spoke up.

Mission Let-Dean-Be-Happy-For-Once was a go.

"Dean, have you seen Dad's journal?"

His brother stepped out of the bathroom and into the main room. Dean still had his toothbrush in his mouth, but it was nearly forgotten as his eyes scanned the room. He grunted and gestured to his own luggage, where the book normally was kept.

Sam shook his head. "No, I checked there first. And also the drawers, the bedside tables, my luggage, under the bed..."

Dean sighed around his toothbrush and started walking around, picking up pillows and shaking them. And then, almost down to the exact second that Sam had expected, his brother's stomach let out a loud growl of hunger. They both looked at his stomach, then at each other. Dean took the toothbrush out of his mouth and opened it, shouting "birthday pie" as well as a person can with a mouth full of toothpaste-spit.

Sam sighed, pulled his best bitch face and pretended to look at his phone.

"Well okay, you should just go ahead to the diner and I'll meet you after I find it. Cas should be here soon anyway."

Dean's face darkens slightly, almost imperceptibly, at the mention of Cas' name. He turns around abruptly and drags his feet in stomps to the sink. The sound of him spitting out the toothpaste is equal parts disgusting and comical, humorous only in this context.

"I heard his date is great," Sam called out, slightly too-loud. Dean spat again. Sam choked back a laugh and tried to cover it with a fake sneeze.

"Yeah, I guess she must be," Dean mumbled when he came back into the main room. He sat down on the bed and pulled on his boots, then stood, grabbed Dad's jacket and the keys. "Mel's isn't too far from here, so is it okay if you guys just walk there from here?"

Sam nodded and sent a quick text

.

_Sam: Eagle is taking flight_

"Yeah, we can do that." His phone chimed loudly to signify that he got a response text.

_Cas: We are sitting in the car in the parking lot, and I have not seen any large birds. Where did you see the eagle?_

Sam laughed so loudly that even Dean noticed. He lifted an eyebrow at Sam, who was sending a quick text to just say to wait thirty seconds after they see the Impala leave the parking lot before coming into the room. When Sam noticed the look from Dean, he shrugged at his brother.

"Garth sent me a picture of his new sock puppet."

"Ah!" Dean said, coughing a little. Sam knew that this was something Dean wouldn't want to know more about. "Well, I'll go get my breakfast. You had better not have lost the fucking notebook, Sammy."

They grunted goodbyes at each other, and Dean was gone. Sam counted the seconds, and nearly on-the-dot to his predicted time the door clicked open.

(Sub-Plan Impress Literary Celebrity And Maybe Get Her to Like You was a go. These eagles were landing.)

From behind what looked to be a mountain of bags (which is stressful enough, as an Impala can only hold so many clothes) there was Castiel, shuffling into the room. His face was flushed and his hair was even messier than usual. At first glance Sam was fairly sure that Cas just engaged in some great sex but for the scared look in his giant, wide eyes. Barely hiding a grin, Sam put his phone back down on the bed and stood to help with the bags.

"Geez, Cas, you've got yourself enough clothes to last through another apocalypse or two."

"Nah, we skipped the gas mask aisle. So last season."

A female voice sounded from behind Cas, and then a head peeked out from behind his shoulder. Sam suddenly had to focus very hard on breathing and on keeping his eyes from going cartoonishly wide. True, he had been preparing himself for this moment since the first picture of her that he saw on Castiel's Instagram account (which was still not as surprising as seeing Castiel's face on Lucita’s Instagram) but he would also defend to the death the fact that it is one thing to see a celebrity in a photo and a completely different thing to have them in front of you, warm, smiling and gorgeous.

And really, only Castiel and his ridiculous, clueless luck could accidentally become friends with Lucita Morales.

Sam first read the work of best-selling newcomer Lucita Morales during his freshman year at Stanford. Her collection of short stories were featured at the end of his Writing of 21st Century Women class, though using the title "woman" was a bit of a misnomer at the time. Lucita had only been fifteen years old when her writing was first published. She quickly became a sensation, especially after it was revealed that she was the author and not her older brother, who originally submitted the pieces. The New York Times had given her the most noteworthy praise, naming her the mind to follow.

And follow Sam did. In a later non-fiction class his senior year, he wrote a paper connecting her recently-published essay on family to the larger narrative of Latinos and Latinas in California. Her writing was an obvious match to his tastes; she often wrote about the love-hate emotions inherent in family, issues of class, and the emergence of sexuality.

So basically she wrote out Sam's feelings better than he ever could.

It didn't hurt that she became painfully hot, which is why he later started following her Instagram account in 2013 as she was finishing her Master's degree at UCLA (from what he read, she graduated from high school early) and right after she sold her first movie script. He had definitely double-clicked quite a few of her pictures, which all featured her arching eyebrows, high cheekbones, styled and flowing hair, and flirty eyes. And lips. You really can't forget about her lips.

So given his, well, celebrity crush on her, Sam would later pay himself on the back for not falling over on his face.

And he had thought meeting an Angel of The Lord for the first time was intimidating.

He quickly moved the bag he had taken from Cas to the side and onto the hotel's table, then strode past Castiel to the eyebrows-cheekbones-eyes-lips of Lucita Morales, hand outstretched and grinning to the point of cheek-pain.

"Hi, I'm Sam Winchester, and you're Lucita Morales. I'm a huge fan of your work."

Lucita tilted her head, grinned and shook his hand enthusiastically.

"Please, call me 'Luz.' I'll test you later on your knowledge of my writing. I get a lot of bullshitters in my life. You understand." She cocked her head in Cas' direction, who was currently rifling madly through several bags of clothes at once. "I'm a huge fan of your friend over there, which probably means I'll be a huge fan of you by the end of the day."

Sam's laugh got slightly caught in his throat, resulting in very-suave hiccuping noises. "Oh no, I wouldn't--well, I hope I can entertain you today."

Lucita chuckled, winked at him, and walked around him to help Cas with whatever epic search was going on. Sam was officially both 100% bumbling dork and 100% fucked.

He sat down on one bed and watched their flurry of motion. There were a few minutes of rapid-fire discussion, giggles (from Lucita) and groans (from Cas) with various items of clothing flying through the air. Eventually Luz was pushing Cas into the small hotel bathroom, threatening to go in there and dress him herself if he didn't calm down.

The flurry appeared to be worth it. When Cas emerged even Sam had to admit that he looked great. [His outfit](http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3507/5740165417_3d4b32dfc9_o.jpg) consisted of soft-looking, dark jeans paired with moccasin-inspired shoes that still looked dressed-up. On top, he was wearing a thin, white collared shirt paired with thin, black suspenders. In his hands was a soft, cream-colored blazer. He looked first to Luz and then to Sam for approval.

Sam was reminded suddenly of the last time this had happened, in another hotel room, on the day that Castiel re-appeared after Purgatory. The look in his eyes this time was eerily similar, a pleading for approval with just a hint of hope. Last time, Sam had smiled and looked over to Dean, expecting to see the same. Instead, Sam remembered the gulp and the nervous smile on his older brother's face. Sam could feel it, the shift in tension. Something had happened in Purgatory between them, and Cas looking like himself again was the final cessation of Purgatory. They were both back on Earth, and Dean couldn't hold on to the fight and pain of Purgatory anymore, of the temporary cessation in his struggle with Cas. They had to live in reality again.

Sam wouldn't be there when Dean saw Cas today, but he had a suspicion that, with Cas looking this good, Dean wouldn't be able to hold back a smile. Or hold back in general, hopefully.

Cas cleared his throat and walked up to Sam, breaking into the barrier of personal space he was infamous for.

"Sam Winchester. I love your brother. I love Dean. And I plan on courting him today, on his birthday. I have been led to believe that there is a customary ritual where I ask for permission from a family member, and so I am officially letting you know of my intentions. To woo him."

Sam's mouth quirked from holding back laughter. He reached down and held Cas by the shoulders.

"I have one word: duh. And then three words: Dean is dumb." He grinned down at the now-human Castiel. "But if anybody can make him happy, it's you. Go get him.”

Cas' responding smile might as well have lit up the entire room. Just for a moment, Sam imagined that he could feel Cas' grace again, the non-lethal grace, warm and shining through his eyes.

Lucita made several cooing noises and murmured positive sentences in Spanish as she led him toward the door.

"Get your ass out there, finally!" She goaded. "I put a lot of money into this. Don't make me have to lock you two in a small, enclosed space." She then gave him a quick kiss on the lips, followed by a mutual hug that only made Sam slightly-jealous. Seconds later, Cas was gone.

Lucita pressed her back against the door, put her hand to her chest, closed her eyes and sighed.

"They're so adorable."

When she opened her eyes, she was grinning, her hot, hot gaze now directed at Sam.

"Alone at last."

Sam only hiccup-laughed just a little.


	4. Earth Angel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dean tries to stop the radio from playing love songs, Cas looks too good for his own good and a poor waitress has to deal with it all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No cool~ graphics this time. I never intended for the chapters to be cut up this way, but I couldn't wait for this cute to happen.

Dean had a soft spot for Mel’s Drive In restaurants. He and Sam had been to a few of the other locations during their hunting trips to California, including an early trip with their dad, but they had never made it to the Hollywood location. He actually really liked this one, which looked the most retro of them all. Like the rest of them, this location was decorated to look like your standard movie idea of a 50’s diner, complete with the red-backed booths and chrome decor. The walls had pictures from the Behind-the-Scenes making of _American Graffiti_ , and every booth had a mini-juke attached so you could put in a quarter and pick the next song for the entire restaurant.

And, most important of all, they had an excellent selection of pies.

Dean had already settled on which pie he wanted--cherry, _classic_ \--and the ingredients to the ultimate Hungry Man Breakfast; all that was left was waiting for Sam to get his lazy ass into the restaurant. He tapped his fingers against the table, groaned and kicked his feet out. To top off this shitty (pending food and pie notwithstanding) morning, the radio kept playing love songs, there were too many kissing teenagers (and shouldn't they be in _school_?!) and he had already spent all of his quarters picking out the songs about how love just fucks you over. But, there were only so many times that you can play _[Great Pretender](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Pzkszgjkj6Q)_ and think about dumb, giant blue eyes and dumb, messy hair before you start drowning in your own pathetic feelings.

Enough mopey shit. It’s Dean’s birthday, and he wasn’t going to not spend it being bitter or angry or thinking about revenge against dumb girls, even if love music kept playing. Like the dumb opening to _[I Only Have Eyes For You](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=63nlhoda2MY)_ by The Flamingos playing from the speaker right above his head, of course. Dean scrubbed his face in his hands and kicked his foot hard against the other booth seat. To his right, the waitress coughed.

He looked up, feeling the dumb heat pinking the tips of his ears. Fucking traitor ears.

“Sorry. Still waiting.”

The waitress gave him a tight smile that didn’t make it to her eyes.

“Refill on your coffee while you’re waiting?”

He nodded and shifted his mug closer to the edge. Later, he would be thinking that he wasn’t picking it up, as what Dean saw next definitely would have made him spill a full mug of hot, new coffee into his lap.

Because there, while The Flamingos kept singing their _shoo-bop, shoo-bop’_ s, was Cas.

Alone.

Looking hot as fuck.

And really, nobody could blame him for his outright reactions, because Dean was tired, and emotional, and suddenly very turned on by the sight of his not-angel in soft, touchable, _tight_ clothes and, Jesus, even fucking suspenders. Dean had a really strong urge to pull them off of those strong shoulders with his own teeth.

“Is that one of your friends?” the waitress asked. Dean tore his eyes away from his tracing of Cas’ body with his own eyes to look at the girl standing next to him, who was clearly giving Cas the same treatment. He scowled and pulled his coffee mug back from her, sloshing some coffee onto the table.

“Yeah, he’s with me,” he said, and so what if his voice got a little on the growly side?

“Hello, Dean.”

Dean couldn’t hold back his grin.

“Hey, Cas.”

_Shoo-bop, shoo-bop, you are here, so am I_

 

* * *

 

_Dean finally lost it about a week before his birthday. He, Sam and Cas had just arrived in L.A. and were casing for information at a local club. Unlike the bars that they often frequented--which were small, dark and simple--this bar was more of a club. There was a main area with a swanky bar that glowed blue, and beyond another wall there was a giant dance floor._

_Oh, and most of the people there were in same-gender couples, though there were quite a few people with genders that weren't easily discernible._

_Some years ago this would have made Dean feel awkward, uncomfortable, and would have led to a lot of bad fucking jokes. But he was in his thirties now, and he was tired of worrying about things that don't matter. The only important things anymore were saving people and family, which now definitely included Cas._

_Dean had already had this conversation with Sammy, which was awkward, uncomfortable, and full of bad jokes. It was very soon after Cas started dressing up, and Dean finally couldn't take the smug grins Sam kept throwing him. He finally went to Sam one night after Cas had retired early to his room. He set down a beer for his brother and took a long swig of his own, then set it down on the table._

_"Sammy, I'm bisexual."_

_Sam's face was fucking priceless. His eyes were giant, though crinkled at the sides due to his face-splitting grin._

_"I didn't think you would say it."_

_Dead took another sip and shrugged._

_"So you aren't going to freak out or have an identity crisis?"_

_Another sip, another shrug. Dean cleared his throat and stared down at the lip of his bottle._

_"I mean, maybe I would have. And I guess it could seem weird. I know I would be way more freaked out if Dad were alive. But he isn't, and I knew you wouldn't think anything different of me."_

_When he looked up, Sam had gone quiet, his expression suddenly serious. Dean frowned and continued to speak._

_"We've literally been to hell and back, and we're still stickin' together. We've stopped more than one apocalypse. So who cares about who I have sex with? Not you, and you're practically the only one that matters."_

_"And Cas."_

_All of Dean's pride at getting through this speech was suddenly drained. His foot started tapping erratically on the floor._

_"Well of course he matters."_

_"Because you're in love with him."_

_Dean tried to keep his face straight, but his mouth betrayed him. He smiled and looked down at the table, cursing._

_"Yes! Finally! Jesus! This is great!" Sammy and his giant fucking moose body was suddenly clomping around the room, spilling his drink. "Now you just have to tell him! i have to call Charlie--"_

_"Hold your fucking horses, Sammy," Dean grunted as he pointed a finger at his dumb, giant, younger brother. "I'm not saying anything to him."_

_Sam opened his mouth, but Dean cut him off before he could go into some misguided "it's fine, it gets better, I'm joining PFLAG" shit. "Sammy, it's like you said. He matters. And he was an angel of the fucking Lord until recently, so he's going through a lot of shit right now. The last thing he needs to deal with is me and my emotions or even just sex."_

_Of course, Dean had been totally fucking wrong about the last one. Cas started drinking with them, and started flirting with strangers. Dean liked to think that the sharp pain he felt every time wasn't so much jealousy but guilt, visions of the future-Cas in his head who numbed with sex and drugs but still did everything future-Dean asked. He didn't want this Cas, his Cas to be broken like that._

_Plus, Cas was only flirting with women, and as the only previous experience he had was with Meg all that Dean could conclude was that Cas wasn't interested in men. Sam was always there, whispering encouragement to Dean, pointing out that celestial beings probably don't care about gender, that Dean was still the most important being to Cas. And every time Dean would just think that the only thing that mattered was keeping Cas from breaking completely._

_He could even picture himself supporting Cas if he ever found a woman to love, being in their wedding, clapping him on the back. Dean was fairly sure that he had been forever ruined and that nobody could ever match up to his new, Cas-shaped standards, but that didn't mean that Cas had to feel the same way, especially if he liked women only._

_This worked right up until he and Sam walked in on Cas grinding on a slim, very-male person in a Los Angeles club._

_And so Dean freaked the fuck out. It was inappropriate, and it was unfair, but he did it. Before he knew it, he was slamming his fist into the wall and walking away._

_Cas didn't come to the hotel that night, and, for the first time since they were children, Sam held his hand as he fell asleep, crying softly and silently into his pillow. For his part, Sam at least had the good fucking sense to shut up that time, and he hasn’t brought it up since._

 

* * *

 

But suddenly, Dean is 35 (in Earth years, anyway) and alone on his birthday with his best friend, who he is in love with. And there's nowhere fucking else--on Earth, in Hell, in Purgatory, in Heaven even, or anywhere else that exists--that he would want to be. He'll take the pain, the occasionally pathetic crying, and the torture. He isn't being masochistic or anything; Dean Winchester just knows too well the spectrum of evil shit in this world, and that even people who don't deal with demons and monsters have bad days, lost loves, even death in the family. But he's the only person in the whole goddamn world that has an angel who searched for him for forty years, who pieced back together his soul, who lost his grace and who still can look at him like he's the most beautiful thing in all of fucking creation. And when you have that by your side, not to mention an amazing brother (just don't let Sam know that Dean complimented him) a beautiful car and the open road, the bullshit just isn't as bitter anymore.

Or maybe he's just too old to give a shit. Either way, he'll take it.

 

* * *

 

The waitress stuck around as Cas sat down. At first Dean thought that he would still have to get territorial, but her pen poised over her ordering sheet reminded him that--oh, yeah--she's working, and they're paying her to bring them food.

He gave a quick look to Cas across the booth.

"Is Sam...?"

Cas shook his head, looked up at the waitress and asked for a coffee. She grinned and winked at him and left, leaving Dean to scowl calculate how little of a tip would be punishment enough.

A semi-awkward silence commenced. Dean handed his menu to Cas, who made a grunting noise in acknowledgement. Even though the silence was almost uncomfortable, Dean was at least glad to have time to stare at Cas for a minute. He loved the serious face he got when he looked at menus, because ordering food (and eating it, of course) was still so new to him that every meal choice seemed important. Dean traced the wrinkles that had begun to form on Cas' face, ones that never appeared in Jimmy. Even under the fancy clothes, this was now a hunter's face.

So of course he didn't miss it when those damn, fucking laser beam eyes were suddenly trained on him.

"I know what I want," Cas said simply then closed the menu and slid it to the middle of the table. They looked at each other in silence in a stretched-out moment. Dean was finally the one to break the silence.

"I like your suspenders," Dean said. He itched to reach across the booth and touch them, but instead he moved his fingers around where they would be on his own body as a hand-signal to accompany his words. Cas gave a small smile at this.

"Thank you, Dean. I hoped you would like them. Lucita bought them."

Oh yeah, the reason for his fucking misery. Dean scowled down at the table, then steeled his nerves. He knew he would have to deal with a Cas romance at some point.

"Oh yeah, her. Where is she? I thought you two lovebirds would want to spend your last moments together."

Cas gave him the familiar head-cock, the one that made him look like a confused bird.

"I want to be here with you, Dean, not her. I am not," Cas looked away. His fingers fiddled with the arms of his sunglasses, which were perched on top of his head (so L.A.) "I am not romantically interested in her."

It was Dean's turn to be confused.

"Then why did she buy you suspenders?"

"She bought me many things."

"Then why did she buy you _many things_ , then?"

"Because she cares about me," Cas said simply. Dean furrowed his brow and took a sip of his coffee. "I suppose also because I spent time with her, and had sex with her. Thoroughly."

Dean sputtered and got very close to performing a real-life spit take.

"Cas, you got a sugar mama?"

"I'm not familiar with that terminology."

Dean shook his head, a small smile pulling at his lips. Only Cas would accidentally get a sugar mama. He couldn't even focus enough to feel murderous over her lucky vagina.

"She was helping me achieve something." Cas took out his wallet and pulled out a piece of worn paper. He pushed it across the booth to Dean, who carefully unfolded it. It was a page from a magazine, and in it were a few male models posing by a city backdrop. And their outfits were eerily similar to what Cas was wearing.

When he looked up, Cas was fiddling with the cuff of his shirt and avoiding eye contact.

"I couldn't get it exactly right. It's been too long since that season. But this is what you pointed to last year, the page you said looked good." He looked up at Dean, finally. "I wanted to look pleasing to you."

It was too much. He reached to still Cas' fingers, then took his hand and looped their fingers together. Though his heartbeat sounded like the Pacific Ocean in his ears, he still heard Cas say the same thing that he did at the same time.

"I love you."

A beat of silence. And then, like the ocean fucking crashing against their bodies, they both shook with laughter, though still connected at the hand. Dean had never heard Cas laugh so loudly or so happily. He was fucking gorgeous this way.

Their giggles calmed down. Their palms were still held together.

"Jinx," Dean said seriously. This was a game familiar enough to Cas for him to understand the reference, leaving them both in round two of a laughter fit.

The waitress appeared again, looking decidedly annoyed, probably both at seeing that she couldn't pick up on her attractive customer and also having to deal with such loud patrons so early in the morning. In the background, [Earth Angel](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VJcGi4-n_Yw) started playing, which was too fucking perfect and would have been annoying if Dean weren’t himself annoyingly, blissfully pleased..

"Did you guys decide on what you want?"

It wasn't her fault that round three of laughter began. This was was short, though, and ended with Dean squeezing Cas' hand.

"Yeah," Dean said, still staring at Cas. "Yeah, I do know what I want."


End file.
